


When We Two Parted

by keepasecretgetastrawberry



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Avengers Family, Avengers Movie Night, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Loneliness, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Feels, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 07:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10239068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepasecretgetastrawberry/pseuds/keepasecretgetastrawberry
Summary: Steve and Bucky's relationship through the years, inspired by a poem by Lord Byron.OrFive times Steve and Bucky were separated, and the one time they managed to stick together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first Marvel/Captain America fic, so we'll see how it goes.  
> Also, read those tags! If you think any of those could be a trigger for you, precede with caution.  
> Updates will most likely not be regular, due to revision and extra-curriculars and also because I'm a horrific procrastinator.  
> Hope you enjoy!

 

> _When we two parted_
> 
> _In silence and tears,_
> 
> _Half broken-hearted_
> 
> _To sever for years..._

When Steve had first met Bucky, he was probably within a few inches of his life. Then again, that wasn't unusual; the fights that Steve consistently found himself in often came worryingly close to killing him, much to Bucky's increasing concern.

"I worry about you sometimes, Stevie," he had said once, while cleaning the blood from Steve's face, and Steve had said nothing.

There weren't really words that would ease Bucky's worries, anyway; if Steve ever let his friend in on the twisted mess of his mind, how he almost  _liked_ the pain, simply because it was better than the screaming of  _useless useless useless_ threatening to tear out of his brain, well. Bucky'd probably never leave the apartment again.

At least when he was fighting (read: getting the shit beaten out of him) Steve was  _doing_ something. It was better than sitting around blankly, with nothing but the overwhelming thoughts in his head for company. He'd go out, start a fight, get beaten up, and then Bucky would show up, finish it, and take Steve home. A few days later, as soon as Steve was healed, he'd be back again. Such went the vicious, painful cycle; and Steve recognised with a distant sense of revulsion that in some way he _enjoyed_ it. Every punch, every kick, every blow left Steve reeling with the horrible sense of satisfaction because he was  _getting what he deserved._

Bucky hated this cycle, of course. It was Bucky. But now, Steve noted with grim fulfilment, he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Because he was joining the army, doing what Steve had yearned, tried, and failed to do.

He was leaving, he didn't get a say anymore.

Something told Steve that what he was about to do was a stupid idea, and he was going to get himself killed, but that didn't stop him.

Maybe it should have.

* * *

A punch - one in the stomach, winding him, knocking him over -

A kick to the face, and was that a tooth knocked loose? -

Another kick, to the ribs -

Another -

Another -

Another -

The blows kept coming, and Steve thought ' _I'm going to die here, I'm going to die right here and I won't even mind...'_

Another blow, except Steve didn't feel that one. Heard it, sure, but the sound didn't accompany a foot colliding with his ribs.

"Get the  _hell_ away from him!"

' _Or not,'_ Steve thought, with twisted disappointment.

Then Bucky's face was in front of him, a concerned frown marring his expression, beautiful eyes shrouded with a mix of worry and anger, shaking him, yelling something that Steve couldn't quite make out. A tangy, sharp taste filled his mouth, and Steve spat out whatever it was quickly, only to realise as a red splatter coated the concrete in front of him that it was blood. Bucky blanched - probably; Steve couldn't really see - and placed an arm around his body, raising him off the ground with care.

"Buck?" Steve slurred, head lolling to one side and resting on a convenient shoulder.

"Mm?" Bucky's voice sounded strained.

" 'm sorry."

With that, Steve passed out.

* * *

 

The regret hit when Steve woke up, blinking slowly with confusion. He was on the couch, Bucky was watching him carefully from a chair opposite, and everything hurt like Hell. Fuck.

"Hey," Bucky croaked out, sounding almost as bad as Steve felt. Which was a pretty challenging level to reach, if he was honest.

"Hey."

The brunet met his eyes, and a chill ran down Steve's spine. His eyes -  _beautiful eyes,_ Steve remembered thinking, among the pain and blood, and what the fuck? - looked angry, with concern edging it's way in too, and Steve felt uneasy.

"You gonna tell me what the Hell that was about, Stevie?"

His tone was accusing. Angry. Steve didn't like it.

"I got in a fight, big deal. It happens all the time, you know that."

"Not like that, it doesn't!" Bucky stood up, and  _shit,_ he was mad. "You weren't even fighting back, Steve! You were taking what they were giving you, and getting the shit beaten out of you, and if I hadn't turned up you'd probably be dead!"

Steve offered no input into the conversation, staring at his knees. Sighing in exasperation, Bucky sat back down. 

"Steve. Please, I am begging you. Don't do this when I leave."

' _Well, it's not like you'll be able to stop me when you're not here,'_ Steve thought bitterly, hunching into himself. _'You'll be gone, and there won't be anything to stop me from dying.'_

The silence sat heavily around them; surrounding so thickly that the two of them were practically choking on it. Steve struggled to find words to speak, grasping onto any ideas in the aim of breaking down the invisible brick wall that had built itself between them in the past half hour. 

"I don't know what you think's going to happen when you leave, but I'm not going to get  _better,_ if your thoughts were along those lines."

That probably wasn't the best idea Steve could've had. 

"Steve..." Bucky sighed, eyes softening. "You know nothing's gonna keep me from leaving, right? I can't... look, the last thing I wanna do is leave you. But I have to go, it's... I've gotta do it, you know? Duty to my country and all that. You understand, right?"

And of all the things to say, that seemed to kick Steve in the chest harder than any physical blow from earlier had. Because  _of course_ he understood; it was what he'd been trying to do, trying to do his duty and being shot down at every turn, all because he was  _weak._

So that's all there was to it, because of course it was. Bucky was leaving, and Steve had to accept it and stay behind, because that's how things were going to be.

Of course, nothing really turned out as simple as it looked.

 

 

 


End file.
